Try Again Next Year Two

I cut string and do right thing and music louder half
notes between notes appear, ones you can’t hear, though I’m no conductor
sensitive to playing too much, the songs not being especially
special as you have yours and I have mine and the half
notes stumble in the background of that familiar track, knotted in white sheet
no bars, OK bars, I think I just feel bad? I don’t. I cannot play an instrument.
I am hardly writing, though I am still arrogant, aren’t I. Perhaps. Anyone there?

Maybe it wasn’t a string. It was like a ball of twine
fraying which is no good for an artist
or puppet maker, neither of which I am. D’ya feel them notes?

They won’t even let me play the triangle.